Playlist Of The Heart
by sherlolly-shipper221B
Summary: One shots based off my favourite ship songs. Sherlolly. Currently includes Demons by Imagine Dragons, Fix You by Coldplay, The Scientist by Coldplay, A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, Temporary Bliss by The Cab and Daydreams by Kaezie.
1. Demons

**So I wrote little one shots to my favourite ship songs. More soon (probably) :D **

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><p><strong><em>DEMONS BY IMAGINE DRAGONS <em>**

_Don't get too close_

_It's dark inside_

_It's where my demons hide_

_It's where my demons hide"_

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><p>Sherlock raised his head slowly, pulling his lips away from Molly's.<p>

"I'm sorry." He whispered, his voice a monotone "I shouldn't have done that."

"What?" Asked Molly, confused, her hands pulling away from where they had been rested on Sherlock's waist. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Just forget that this ever happened."

Molly's temper raised and she took a step away from him. "You expect me to forget you walking in my lab, confessing your love for me, kissing me and then saying _oh just forget it! _You can't do that without an explanation!"

"I meant it Molly." He confessed "I do love you. But I'm not right for you. You deserve someone better."

"You are better. Than all of them."

"But I'm not good for you. Someday I'll hurt you and that is unforgivable. I shouldn't have even said anything. I had a moment of weakness after years…"

"_Years?" _

He chuckled. "I've hidden it rather well haven't I?"

"Even though Tom?"

"Even though Tom. He was dull and naive and an idiot, but at least he was safe. He made you happy. I can't do that Molly. I don't know how. I'd screw it up."

"Is that why you've always been so distant? And cruel? Is this why you pretended you didn't know I was asking you out a few years ago?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I knew long before I met you that I am not capable of being trusted with someone's heart.

Tears sprung to Molly's eyes. "Why now?"

"You are under threat and it's all my fault. Everything I did to protect you and now Moriarty could still hurt you. The thought of losing you… My will broke and before I knew it, I was here, telling you everything I couldn't."

"You stupid, stupid man!" Molly cried. "I could have every criminal in the world after me and it would be worth it to be with you." Her tears were running freely now.

"Molly…" He warned. She broke him off by pulling him down, and initiating a passionate yet loving kiss. Sherlock groaned against her mouth. After a few seconds he managed to pull away.

"I'm sorry." He said. "You know what I'm like, Molly. Selfish, unsympathetic, uncaring. I wouldn't ever want you to be in a relationship with someone like that."

"But…" She whispered, even more confused than ever.

"I'm so sorry I told you the truth Molly. It wasn't fair. And I'm so sorry, but I'm going to have to leave now before you convince me not to." Saying this, he turned on his heel and walked briskly away trying not to show how each step away killed him a little tiny bit.


	2. Fix You (Demons Part 2)

**Based on Fix You by Coldplay but is also a continuation of Demons. **

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><p><em><strong>FIX YOU BY COLDPLAY <strong>_

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you_

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><p>The world had slipped out of focus. The streets were blurry. Sherlock couldn't have tuned back in if he'd tried.<p>

_Christ._

Molly.

His mind kept repeating the moment when he'd left her in Barts morgue. He'd told everything. He'd told her he'd loved her. And then left. Why had he done that?

Why? Why? Why?

He somehow couldn't give the question a logical answer.

Somehow the world had turned dark and the sky was now filled with stars. Pin pricks of light far above. He felt alone. Somewhere in his peripheral vision Sherlock noticed the street lights turn on. He subconsciously began to follow them, winding round the streets. He didn't notice where he had arrived _(Molly Molly Molly)_ until he was 7 inches away from the brass '221B' sign. He was home.

But it felt incomplete. He let himself into his rooms _(Molly Molly Molly)_ and flopped on the sofa still in his coat.

Across the city Molly Hooper sat in her lab, staring at a blank wall. Sherlock Holmes was in love with her. She couldn't get her head round it. Sherlock Holmes was _in__ love with her_ but didn't want to be with her. He'd left. How could he leave? _(Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock)_

Her thoughts were interrupted by Doctor Gardener entering the room and grumpily signalling for her to leave.

"Right. Sorry." She whispered. Was it the end of her shift already? How long had she been sat in silence? Hours probably. She got up, wordlessly gathered her bag and left.

She started in the direction of home and then paused. No. She needed to talk about this. She turned around and started to head to Baker Street.

Sherlock had finally mustered the strength to get into his pyjamas and dressing gown. He had, however, returned to his previous position sulking on the sofa.

He'd never felt so raw and human. He was aflame with feeling and emotions so many they spilled out of him and as he raised his hand to his face he realised he was gently crying.

Molly Hooper had fixed him so so many times. And every cruel world he'd dealt her had torn him up again and then she'd fixed him over and over again by continuing to love and believe in him. Walking away that final time hadn't rocked through him like a roller coaster but had ripped him up with every step, like paper scattered to the winds. And his pieces were perhaps lost forever now and here he was, gently broken.

Then, there was a knock. Gentle. Three times. Once and then twice in rapid succession. A little pattern used only by one person. She was here.

And in that moment the world stopped turning and time paused and all that was left was her and the reality that she was here.

The time in which he was the most lost and the one person who could put him back together was here.

She opened the door and slowly entered the room but he kept his eyes shut. His tears continued to fall. She tentatively approached him until she could see his face.

"Oh Sherlock." She knelt down and kissed his forehead. And the world stopped yet again as her lips brushed his skin, all the noise and the chatter was briefly peace.

"You seem so broken Sherlock. Let me fix you." She swallowed. "Please."

And in that moment Sherlock realised what an incredibly selfish man he was as he let her put him back together. But he couldn't bring himself to mind.


	3. The Scientist

**This one is sad - sorry. It is a separate one shot to the chapters before it. I own nothing. Also this is the third time I've uploaded today - go me! There will be happier ones, I promise! **

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><p><em><strong>THE SCIENTIST - COLDPLAY <strong>_

_Nobody said it was easy_

_It's such a shame for us to part_

_Nobody said it was easy_

_No one ever said it would be this hard_

_Oh, take me back to the start._

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><p>It was snowing, although only lightly. Molly always loved the snow. A few years ago Sherlock had taken her into the countryside where the snow was thick and unsullied by other humans unlike in London. They had made a snowman called Basil and sledded and done all the snow games Sherlock would never have played had it not made her happy. Molly had worn a red woollen hat. Her skin had been pale with flushed cheeks. The snow had caught on her eyelashes. God, she had looked beautiful. Afterwards they'd returned home to hot chocolate and a client who wanted Sherlock to find her cat. She had been so absurd that they'd laughed about her for a week.<p>

They'd been so happy.

This snowfall, however, would probably not even cover the ground properly. Not that it mattered. But it did leave a stark contrast against the black of Sherlock's suit and the mahogany coffin.

And as the snow began to melt on the coffin, it was joined by Sherlock's tears. Tears of loss and pain. Tears of regret, for what never would be. Tears of anger at the drunk driver. Tears of sorrow for the child he would never know, still nestled in her womb.

The next snow he saw was a year later. He saw it from his window. He couldn't get any closer to the window for fear of stepping on the photos of her strewn on the floor. Photos of her happy and smiling and so alive. He studied them intently everyday. Everyone insisted it wasn't healthy and that he needed to go outside and that they missed her too but they didn't understand.

He wished he'd taken more photos of them together. But most of all he just wished he'd insisted she'd worn her seatbelt.

The last snow of Sherlock Holmes's life was noticed by him from his hospital bed. He was old now and she never would be. He was impatient too, impatient to see if perhaps those silly religious people right and maybe just perhaps he could be with Molly again.

But then again he could just be put out of this loneliness. They both seemed like good ideas right about now.

Sherlock Holmes died on his own in a hospital ward, looking out the window to the snow, with the world 'Molly' etched upon his lips.


	4. A Thousand Years

**This didn't really go where I was expecting it to go... Sorry for another sad one. Yet again, I do not own anything. **

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><p><strong><em>A THOUSAND YEARS BY CHRISTINE PERRI <em>  
><strong>_I have died every day waiting for you  
><em>_Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you  
><em>_For a thousand years  
><em>_I'll love you for a thousand more_

Perhaps some deity had a vendetta against her. Perhaps in some past life she'd done something terrible. Or perhaps she was just really really really unlucky.

After years of loving Sherlock Holmes he had finally returned her feelings.

So of course he had to get into a car crash the very next day.

He'd knocked on the door of her flat late at night and insisted that he had something to tell her and it had to be right now. She'd still been rubbing sleep out of her eyes as he'd told her that despite him believing all his life that sentiment was a weakness he had fallen in love with her and was not strong enough to keep away. And she'd still been in her sheep pajamas when she kissed him for the very first time.

He'd slept over in her bed, but just cuddling mind. She had wanted to take things slow… ish.

And the next morning they'd kissed on her doorstep and he'd tasted of coffee and toast. He'd promised to take her on their first date that night when she'd finished work. She'd headed to the tube and to work and he to a cab and Baker Street.

A drunk driver had collided with his cab five minutes later.

And now she was here, stuck in a waiting room, not knowing whether he was alive or not.

John came crashing through the double doors.

"Molly!" He exclaimed when he saw her. "Any news? How is he?"

She just shook her head, tearfully.

John crumpled into the plastic seat next to hers.

"Christ." he whispered "_Christ. _I've already lost him once. I can't… He's my best friend."

Tears continued to streak down Molly's face. She'd been crying ever since she'd heard and she couldn't stop and God it scared her. But not as much as the thought of losing him.

"Did he…" John spoke again "Did he say what he was going to say?"

"Yes." Molly trembled "We were going out later. On an actual date." She shuddered as the sobs threatened to take her again.

John pulled her into a comforting bear hug.

"Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes. The amount of times he's lived against the odds… Do you really think he'd let a drunk driver get him?" She shook her head and he released her from the hug. _  
><em>  
>Just then a nurse entered the waiting room.<p>

"Sherlock Holmes' family?" He asked softly. Molly and John got up and followed him to a small office. A comforting office, deskless but filled with leaflets about loss. Molly thought she was going to be sick.

"What's wrong? Is he ok?" She choked. John gripped her hand preparing themselves. The nurse looked down sorrowfully.

"I'm afraid it's bad news…" The nurse began.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes had died at 8.15am of his injuries somewhere between the ambulance and the hospital room. His last words are unknown but one onlooker claims to have heard the words 'Molly' slip from his lips before unconsciousness claimed him in the wreckage of the taxi. His funeral was 3 days later. And it was beautiful.

Molly Victoria Hooper died just under a year later in her home from exhaustion and malnourishment due to her lack of will to live and overworking. Or, as some put it, she died of a broken heart. Her exact last words are unknown but as she left work for the last time the cleaner heard her mutter words 'Oh Sherlock' over and over again. Due to legal reasons she was not allowed to be buried with Sherlock Holmes as she had wished. Instead she was buried with her father less than a mile away. And it was beautiful.


	5. Temporary Bliss

**I own nothing. Thanks to superwholockian7437 who is amazing and introduced me to this song :) **

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><p><strong>TEMPORARY BLISS BY THE CAB<br>**  
><em>'Cause I can't keep sleepin' in your bed<em>

_If you keep messin' with my head_

_Before I slip under your sheets_

_Can you give me somethin' please?_

_I can't keep touchin' you like this_

_If it's just temporary bliss_

_Just temporary bliss_

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><p>Molly arrived home from working, yawning and exhausted. She's had to deal with a cot death and days like those were always hard. That poor baby.<p>

It was days like this that she'd most like him to talk to her. A proper conversation. At first she'd just thought this was the way he was in his home. He never spoke to her or ate with her or did anything with her to be honest. Except sex of course. But when she'd talked to John about it (although not the bit about sex) he'd said that whilst Sherlock had been a horrible flatmate, he'd never been this bad. He'd spoken to John at least. He'd made an effort with John.

He was not making an effort with her. This much she knew.

She entered the flat tentatively and put her bag down. She toed off her shoes, putting them neatly in place. Glancing at Sherlock, she saw he was sulking on the sofa.

"Hello." She said, forcing her voice to be bright. "Er… Bad day?" He just glared at her. A harsh glare that broke her soul a little. She got that glare a lot.

She knew not to try further. Hidden in the kitchen she began to make dinner. Today it was toad in the hole. She made enough for two, as she did every day even though she knew he never ate anything she cooked. It was ok though. She ate the leftovers for lunch the next day.

Molly tried again to make him eat, "You hungry?". He grunted.

"Please, you never eat with me. You don't have to eat this, you could order out. Or I could make you something different? You could just sit at the table with me maybe..?" No reply. Like everyday.

She ate alone and got ready for bed alone and fell asleep alone after leaving a cup of tea near him. She knew he wouldn't drink it. It occurred to her that even when she'd lived alone she hadn't been this lonely. She missed her cat. Sherlock hadn't let her keep Toby when she moved in. She was cold.

At 3.00AM or thereabouts she was woken by Sherlock's large frame crushing her small one.

"Sherlock no… I have work tomorrow and I'm so tired."

He ignored her words and began to murmur, "Molly… Molly… Oh Molly, I love you so much." And she gave in as she did every night, seduced by his loving words. She was his one and only, when there was nothing else to occupy him. But for then it was perfect. Bliss. Then it was over.

In the mornings she woke up alone, Sherlock on the other side of the bed to hers. He was as far away from her as he could be. But it was that way everyday.

But Molly Hooper is not as meek as she is believed to be. As soon as she fully accepted that Sherlock would always treat her this way she did something about it.

Which was why one day, upon returning to Baker Street after a meeting with a client he was startled to find Molly's things, which had previously been scattered around the flat, were gone. At first he suspected burglary. Then perhaps kidnap. The truth didn't occur to him until he saw the scrap of paper laying on the kitchen table. It was in her hand.

_Sherlock, _  
><em>I've left you. I think you know why. I think you want me to leave. Don't try to contact me. <em>  
><em>Molly.<em>

But he hadn't. He hadn't wanted her to leave.


	6. Daydreams

**Was listening to my DFTBA compilation album a lot... Woo, two updates in a day go me! I own nothing. **

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><p><strong><em>DAYDREAMS BY KAEZIE<em>**

_I wrote you a letter in cursive and sent it by post_

_I paid extra shipping, should arrive in a week at the most_

_I wrote of how life's been this summer while you were away_

_I wrote of the silence the twilight cicadas made fade_

_I wrote of my daydreams while laying in soft dewy grass_

_I watched them play out in the clouds that the wind blew past_

The dewy grass caressed her dress and prickled her skin. Molly attempted to blow the hair in her mouth away but just ended up blowing a raspberry. Sighing in defeat she pulled the strands away with her hand. She was lying on her back, looking at the sunrisen sky. The pinks were turning to blue and the clouds were swirling wisps and Molly wasn't paying attention. Her mind was skipping through her memories and dreams and elaborating on her favourites. Her favourites always seemed to contain Sherlock. A thought occurred to her and she sat up and retrieved her forgotten bag. She had taken to carrying that bag around with her everywhere. She pulled out the paper, fountain pen and large book she always carried. Lying down again, and flipping onto her belly, she rested the paper on the book.

At the beginning, when he'd first left, she always had trouble thinking what to write. Nothing happened to her without him. There was no point discussing anything she'd read. Letters were an awful format for a science discussion she'd discovered. She wasn't allowed to call, text or email him. Eventually he just encouraged her to write about all the silly things that crossed through her mind.

_'These sorts of trivialities' _he'd written '_do not usually concern me. However when it comes to you I find myself missing your babblings about little things that crossed your mind. Do not attempt to think up serious conversation. Write to me of your daydreams.'_

So she did. At first she'd felt silly, talking about things she'd like to do in the future and pondering on the different ways their lives could twist. But his words had held a genuine sense of relief that he had this intimate part of her to read when he most missed her. So she continued.

_'Dearest Sherlock,'_ she began '_No news to report. Your mother shows no signs of letting you visit as usual. But there are only 33 days left until the summer holidays. Surely you'll be able to come home then? Boarding schools do not let students stay then surely? And if not, I shall find a motorbike or go on a train and rescue you and we can hide away in a cottage somewhere...'_

Her letter continued in such a manner. When she was finished she peeled herself away from the dew, took a moment to rue the grass stains on her dress and set off to the post office.

She sent it off as she usually did, with a first class stamp in the red post box.

Molly waited and waited, knowing that he wouldn't have had time to reply yet, he wouldn't even have received hers. Still she leafed through the post everyday hopefully. Lately she'd spent most of her time waiting for his letters. He wrote a lot though, like her. She re-read his letters often, missing him so much it ached.

This time however she never got a reply. The day before he would have received her letter a terrible accident happened at his school. A drunk driver careered onto the school grounds and crashed into the huge oak tree in one of the fields. Sherlock had been reading under that tree.

_I wrote you a letter in cursive and sent it by post_

_Sealed with a kiss_

_To give to a ghost, a ghost_

_To give to a ghost, a ghost_

_You are my ghost_


End file.
